Oh Mister Ampora
by The Monochrome Butterfly
Summary: He was dying, again. Oh, but didn't he feel lucky, and so. Very. Hopeful? He was going to live, after he died, wasn't that great? But he didn't even have the privilege of getting whisked away before he died, oh no, he had to endure the pain of bleeding to death while half of himself was several feet away. Oh joy.


_Yes I know, please don't hound me about Avengerstuck._

_In the meantime, this story was inspired by **You're a Wizard, Eri** by Shuricel._

_There is a language barrier, so let me start off by explaining (to the best of my ability) my interpretation of the language barrier._

_I imagine that the game(SBURB/ SGRUB) serves as, or provides, a universal translator. The humans type in English, and the trolls type in Alternian, but the game acts as a translator. So both assume they are speaking the same language. This however, doesn't apply to spoken language (unless you have the game-provided gift of gab, an extension of the translator), and to things written or typed outside of a multilingual chat client (such as troll-only/human-only chats/accessed memos, posters, books, and other non-digital things that have writing)._

_Also, the language barrier doesn't apply to dream bubbles, and the dream bubbles have a sort of TARDIS effect, regarding language -using the memories of the person(s), it manipulates your mind to understand. (This bit I may actually change because I don't think I described it right but I hope it gets the point across.)_

_Also this may or may not be continued but I will try my best to actually update this because I've been write a Homestuck/nu!Trek crossover._

* * *

He was dying, again. A few feet away, his debunked wand still emitted a faint glow, and that wrathful light bulb of a rainbowdrinker that had just sawed him in half was striding away with vengeful purpose. His blood was everywhere and leaking all around him and he turned his head to see _oh god that's my leg I can't feel my feet oh god. _Oh, but didn't he feel _lucky,_ and so. Very. **_H_****_opeful_**? He was going to live, after he died, wasn't that great? But he didn't even have the privilege of getting whisked away _before_ he died, oh no, he had to endure the pain of bleeding to death while half of himself was several feet away. Oh joy.

He would have laughed hysterically, if it didn't mean he'd choke on his blood faster. He would laugh at the cruel privilege to be killed twice, and then have the opportunity, no, the obligation it seems, to live once again. Whatever sick **_fuck_** was responsible for this, they had an angry Prince to resurrect. He would have been happy to accept his death and trot around the afterlife with the rest of his dead cohorts and their doomed counter parts, but this was unfortunately not the case. It came to him while he laid in two, in a sea of his own imperial blood. The soft glow of his wand was slowly encroaching, and soon encased his vision with white, and he felt himself falling through it. He didn't know how long he had been falling through the whiteness, but after what he constituted as 'a while', a voice whispered to him.

"Oh Mister Ampora, however unfortunate this death has been, I'm afraid that there are still more plans for you." The white didn't fully leave his vision, but he supposed that the room was just unnaturally bright and that he wasn't on the verge of death again. He could be wrong though. He felt numb and everything was happening too slowly. He was on the ground before he felt it, and oh did he feel it.

He knew his throat and lungs were no longer filled with blood as he took in a wheezing breath as the feeling of landing harshly on metal exploded against his right side, oh joy, he was facing a white wall. He was blissfully aware of the feeling of his legs, once again attached to his body, but also aware of the blood around him. Along with the pool that seemed to have followed him from the meteor, it spilled out of a gash in his stomach and slipped off whatever sort of small platform he was on. Whatever significant power that could teleport him did a piss-poor job of sewing him back together again (he would reluctantly admit that despite this, he was grateful he could feel his feet again). He reached his right arm up to clutch his side while he used his left to keep himself from turning and falling face down into the pool.

Suddenly though, through this blissful, boring lapse of bleeding out and everything feeling out of sync, everything seemed to catch up with him.

_Pain. Oh god pain pain painpainpainpainpainpAINPAINPAIN!_

He heard a scream, he wasn't sure (and wouldn't blame himself) if it had come from him, or the blur of red that entered his peripheral vision just before blacking out.

* * *

When he first woke up, he realized several things at once. First, that he was no longer bleeding all over the place, his gash had been repaired, and he could feel his feet... Second, he was missing his clothes and was wearing some sort of sheet thing. Third, it was bright as hell in here (something that was noticed and fixed by the fourth thing). Fourth, every person in this respiteblock was human.

Of all the creatures in the universe, humans! Surrounded by ones in blue shirts, and under the constant eye of a particularly foul-tempered one (even a language barrier could not hide his gruffness). How the other blue shirts seemed to gravitate around him pointed to him being the leader, but occasionally a person with a red or yellow shirt will come and talk to him. He was not quite sure of the established system of authority (though these colored shirts had something to do with it, he was sure of that), but he was outnumbered and had been firmly directed to stay in bed by the leader(he didn't need a translator do understand the threatening tone),so he probably wouldn't find out any time soon.

He wondered briefly as these people milled about idly, doing paper work or chatting, about this new-found language barrier. Maybe he just happened to run into a group of humans that happened to speak a different form of Alternian, or these ones had an entirely different language, _he never had such a problem talking to Rose_. Both were highly annoying options, and Eridan had decided to sit in almost silence for three days rather than try to talk to them. They didn't like that, but it seemed that they couldn't do anything about it. Though the woman in the red uniform with dark skin and a her hair pulled into a hoofbeast tail was very persistent.

He hadn't seen the Leader of the Blue Shirts move to his bed or lean down, clutching a small pen-shaped object in his hand. Eridan was so absorbed in his own thoughts that when a light was suddenly flashed into his eyes, he did something neither of them expected.

He panicked.

_Oh __Gl'bgolyb an' the festerin' horrorterrors a' the Furthest Ring, how the fuck did Maryam follow me? _That voice wouldn't rip him from the meteor just to be sawed in half again an' these humans couldn't have known how to retrieve her, couldn't have known that she was the _fuckin' _cause a' all this, an' couldn't have known that when he thought it was her with that sudden flash a' light, he would completely _**flip his shit **_and bolt.

He scrambled off the bed the second his vision was blasted with white. _He could hear the chainsaw revving. _Ignoring the pain in his abdomen and the man trying to catch him, he sprinted down the bright _as __**fuck**__ halls, why is it so bright in here? _He could barely see wherever he was going, and these people had the advantage of actually being able to see and know the layout of this place, because even after ten minutes of running and several sharp turns (running into a wall only twice, he might add), they snuck up on him and cornered him. It was the man, one of the other blue shirts he'd seen, and a new blue shirt with a yellow shirt that had pale yellow hair. Crouching into a defensive stance, he flared his fins and hissed at them, his non-threatening attire was negligible. Not the best way to try to scare them away, but he wasn't thinking clearly.


End file.
